


Immolation

by laEsmeralda



Series: Walking the Walk [7]
Category: White Collar
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-11
Updated: 2012-08-11
Packaged: 2017-11-11 22:53:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/483782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laEsmeralda/pseuds/laEsmeralda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Having learned about the manifest and the canvas scrap that could doom him, Neal continues to hide the truth. Despite reasonable suspicions, Peter decides that he can't do without Neal and that he has to come clean with someone at the Bureau. Elizabeth tries to help both Peter and Neal. Lines in the sand are crossed all around.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Immolation

**Author's Note:**

> This work of impure fiction suffers from having no beta as yet and may be replaced later by a better-edited version. Constructive criticism is welcome.
> 
> I have only seen up to Season 3, _Veiled Threat_ , and the whole situation could change in one episode. Thanks for hanging in there with me.

Peter was so angry, so sure that Neal had reverted to type, that Elizabeth had to choose a side. In doing so, she trusted the man who had always, always been trustworthy. 

She was cool with Neal, questioning why he would come to her when Peter wasn’t home, not surprised when he asked for advice, suspicious that he must want something else. He presented as round-eyed and baffled. She responded as kind and distant. 

His smile faltered, and she could see longing there, but he played along. He earnestly requested her counsel and she gave her candid perception, _the wrong things for the right reasons_.

“You don’t approve of Sara,” he added on the way out the door. 

“I never said that,” she replied. He raised an eyebrow and waited. She sighed. “She’s smart, ambitious, plucky. Nice enough. Aside from her penchant for dressing like the editor in chief of Vogue, I like her. But she’s a symptom,” Elizabeth replied. “You want that life so badly that you’re willing to fake it for yourself.”

He looked genuinely hurt, but he didn’t protest. “She isn’t why I haven’t been… seeing Peter.”

“Mistrust is why you haven’t been _seeing_ each other.” She left herself out of the sentence just as he had, even though she wanted very badly to wrap her arms around him and cry. “But let me ask you, would Sara accept it? Accept that part of you?”

Neal swallowed hard. “She can’t find out.”

Elizabeth shrugged. “She’ll never hear it from me.” She opened the door. “Take care, Neal.”

He went with a wistful backward glance. Maybe it was a play, maybe not. She nodded, giving him a weak smile, and shut the door. 

Perhaps he had gotten too close, grew afraid, saw himself changing. All along, she had tried being warm, responding to his apparent willingness to be vulnerable, and that hadn’t worked out so well for them. Now, she was trying tougher love. 

If he had stolen the art, woe to them all. If he hadn’t, well, Peter’s refusal to believe him was a breach that might not be overcome. They hadn’t had long to just enjoy each other.

She wrapped her sweater tighter and went to fold laundry. Something easy, something rote.  
*******

When the certainty and the rage had burned back, Peter was left with the sensation of an empty space in his chest. It hadn’t eased in the weeks that followed. 

He and Elizabeth had taken to talking about the whole mess over morning coffee. It made the inevitable office and field contact with Neal a little easier to bear. Truthfully, he wouldn’t have avoided Neal if he could have, but that didn’t make interacting with him easy.

“I thought he was starting to come over to our side,” Peter grumbled. “I really did.”

“He was. Maybe he still is.”

Peter shook his head. “The temptation was just too great this time. I’m sure of it.”

“ _The dark side, is quicker, easier…_ Something like that?” Elizabeth quirked her mouth at him.

“Don’t forget _more seductive._ ” He sighed. “And I’m no Yoda.”

Elizabeth chuckled and topped off her coffee, “Truly, no. More like Obi-wan.” She blinked for a moment. “Ah, you know, the in-between Ewan McGregor version… sexy with a bit of gray in his beard.”

“Nice. Thanks,” Peter said. He rubbed a hand over his face, suddenly glad he had done away with the facial hair that would have shown gray by now. He paused to wonder when he had become so vain, and then sighed. “Neal was making progress. I clouded everything.” His insides squirmed and he forced himself to say it out loud. “Having an affair with my CI breaks at least four FBI rules I can think of off the top of my head. The very good reasons for those rules include--so that nobody’s judgment is impaired, so that the CI doesn’t feel coerced into the relationship, and so that the agent isn’t compromised.”

“I don’t think any of those things have happened.”

“I’m not so sure. Trust is delicate both ways in rehabilitating a career criminal, even someone relatively young. I’m supposed to be Neal’s role model but I’ve disregarded the boundaries to which I committed.” And then, he tried to joke. “I’m thinking that Jedi didn’t screw around with their apprentices.” 

Elizabeth paused mid-stir, an oddly droll look on her face. “My darling, you really don’t spend much time on the internet, do you?” 

He blinked. It seemed a non sequitur, so he let it slip past. “All evidence to the contrary, I know he’s involved somehow, he’s lying or hiding the truth from us. I’m furious with him. I need to catch him. And yet…” 

“You miss him. Of course.”

Peter didn’t know how to say what an understatement that was, how to explain the longing. “It feels insensitive to express all this to you.”

“It isn’t. I’m grieving too. And _I’m_ not in love with him.” She waived away his half-hearted protest. “Pfft. You’re too smart for denial.”

Peter felt the depth to which she was right. The pangs were too strong to explain any other way. He suddenly felt old and stupid. “How did it go from shine to shit so fast?”

Tapping the counter, Elizabeth seemed to struggle with her next words. “Vulnerability is a trigger for Neal. I think it’s safe to say he left the night of our anniversary feeling off balance. He let us get really close. But your first thought when the sub blew was that he was up to something. Maybe he was, maybe he wasn’t. But he knows that’s where you went with it, that your faith in him was shaken.”

She had struck upon exactly the fact that tied him in knots since the explosion. “When we were cracking the hatch, Neal started to say… well, I think he was trying to say how he felt about me. I interrupted him. We were live on wire in front of Adler, Alex, God knows who else. I said, _I know, me too,_.… It was the second time I had done that, cut him off before he could say it.”

“Listen, Babe, Neal earned your mistrust for a lot longer than he has earned your trust. I’m not faulting you for thinking it was him. I’m reminding us both that maybe it wasn’t him, and no matter what, he’s going to need some time to sort himself out. New is scary. And he probably doesn’t understand that you haven’t stopped caring about him because you’re angry or you think he’s done something terrible.” She set her cup down and took both his hands. “Be gentle with him _and_ be wary.”

Peter kissed her cheekbone, relishing the feel of her skin against his lips. He floated for a moment on a swell of love for her—a strange and wonderful thing to feel in the midst of a breaking heart. “Meanwhile, you’re hurt. My turn to listen.”

He felt her chin come up another notch. “I want to give him the benefit of the doubt. But he often comes to me when he wants something you’ve blocked, and I don’t want him to play me either. Yesterday was like that. He seemed desperate. I believe he wanted to talk about reconnecting with you—that was real—but his mind was on something else intense as well.”

“That’s just Neal,” Peter said. 

“Maybe. He didn’t seem focused on what he was saying at first.” She pulled back to look at him. “He’s afraid Sara will find out about you. That could be part of it.”

Peter frowned. “That whole thing happened fast, didn’t it? A serious relationship with a woman was inevitable for him, I guess. I wanted to be happy for him, but I wasn’t ready.”

“Me neither.” She smiled wanly and touched her lips. “I let him kiss me that night. And I practically pushed him out our front door yesterday. Are you willing to go on if she doesn’t know?”

It unnerved Peter how quickly his insides leapt to answer _yes_. He swallowed. “Afraid I am. But it might all be academic now.”

“Look, it doesn’t matter if we’re ready, we have to deal with it. Sara is important to him. But you’ve got to let him know you still want to be with him. It’s up to him to decide what to do.”

Peter nodded. “There’s something else I have to do. But not without your consent.”

“That sounds ominous.”

“Someone needs to watch me in case I falter. In case all those reasons I shouldn’t do what I’ve been doing prove out. I need to tell Diana.”

He watched her take a beat. “Is she required to disclose to the bureau?”

“Not unless I demonstrate impaired judgment.”

Elizabeth let out a slow breath. “I trust her. I know you do.” She blushed as the implications sank in. “Wow.”

“Honey, I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think it needed doing.”

She nodded. “Right. Do it.” 

He pulled her into his chest. What had been merely complicated was about to become a potential disaster area. No matter what, he had to protect her.  
********

Enemies closer, and all that. Sara proved to be truly fun in bed. She wasn’t sultry—she was far too direct for that—but more fresh and athletic. Like what the mythical American farm girl would be like if she weighed a hundred pounds and dressed straight off the Milan runways. 

She had brains. Moreover, she was a woman of her own means and didn’t need him. She might be running a game on him over the Raphael, but it seemed to him there was genuinely more to the whole thing than that.

Before Kate, she would have been more than enough to hook him for good. He thought about that thought very carefully. No. Before _Peter_ she would have been more than enough. That hurt. 

He was not immune to Peter’s reproving glances, the lingering looks which now contained more doubt than ever and far less warmth. Everything Peter said to him seemed double-edged and not in a fun way. 

But he was honest with himself about his own level of badness. Peter’s immediate accusation had been an excuse to hide the art once Neal knew about it, not the root cause of that concealment. Peter’s logical, if hurtful, conclusion did help him feel less guilty. Might as well be hanged for a sheep as for a lamb. What a sucker he would have been to just hand it all over. It might have created the kind of trust that could only come from an overwhelming act of sacrifice, but for what?

He rolled over. Sara had left. She liked her own routine and comforts and often didn’t like to linger after sex. Suited him fine. But there were indications that they might be on the cusp of something else, a toothbrush on his bathroom shelf, or more. He wondered how long he could run the game in the circle of Mozzie, Sara, Peter, Elizabeth, and Diana. It almost made him feel high. Almost, but not quite. 

In prison, Neal had more than a little time, if not quiet, to think up new schemes, run the contingencies, network, and hone the plans. Never in his wildest speculations could he have imagined having access to resources only the feds have, a storage locker brimming with supposedly blown up masterpieces ripe for the private hoarder, and the cleverest accomplice one could find, while sleeping with his handler and an insurance recovery agent (well, one and then the other anyway) neither of whom were close to catching him. Yet. 

The fact that he couldn’t fully gloat made him feel a bit disgusted and a little proud at the same time. Things had changed. He had changed. But not so much that he couldn’t change back. Choices would have to be made, but for now, he would play it out as it came. His phone buzzed.

“Peter,” he answered as neutrally as possible. It seemed like an age since he had spoken to Peter while naked.

“I’d like to meet you somewhere for a drink,” Peter said, his tone somewhere between gently gruff and insistent. Neal heard the dog wuff softly in the background, followed by Elizabeth’s soft, “Hush, Satch.”

“Sure. I could come to your neighborhood. There’s that little bistro a few blocks from you.” He absorbed the brief silence. “Or not, whatever’s easier.”

“Fine.”

Neal could imagine Peter resisting the urge to make it easy for him, to ask if he had a ride or needed cab fare. He could hope. On the other hand, it was progress of its own that Peter didn’t say those things. “Give me forty minutes.” He rang off. A shower was needed and a cab would take fifteen to twenty. As he groomed, hailed, and rode in light banter with June’s driver (lucky timing), he anticipated. 

The anger and hurt pulled back, made room for a faster heartbeat. Halfway there he got hard. But two minutes from the drop-off, he reminded himself this was not that kind of meeting. By the time he arrived, he was orderly again.

In rolled up shirtsleeves, tie loosened, Peter looked downright tasty. Neal thought it important that he acknowledge to himself the plain fact of it. There was an empty glass touching a full: scotch over ice. A perfect goblet of something profoundly red sat across from Peter. Neal eased into the seat. He smiled cautiously, ever so lightly. “Hi.”

Peter met his eyes and a great deal happened at once. Peter reflexively smiled in return, eyes warm and sad and worried, all the things Neal was used to seeing when there was trouble—before the breach. Neal instinctively leaned toward him, practiced smile giving way to genuine gladness. Peter sighed. Neal barely stopped himself from putting his hand on Peter’s. Peter resumed a more serious expression. The ice settled in Peter’s glass. 

“Would it sound cliché for me to say, _We have to talk_? Peter began. His voice sounded the tiniest bit loose with alcohol, deeper than normal. 

“We do have to talk,” Neal replied. “Even if it’s only to agree not to.”

“I miss you,” Peter said without preamble.

Neal bit down on the urge to say, _Even though you find some way to give me the cold shoulder every day?_

“It feels like I’m starving.” Peter brushed the sides of his glass absentmindedly. “But it isn’t the sex I miss, at least, not mostly,” he said, ruefully. His dark eyes had that deep, soft look that had become so familiar.

It occurred to Neal that what he had interpreted in his anger as plain need for sex with a man, even a particular man, might have been an oversimplification after all. Instead of expressing hurt at the long shunning, he went another way. “Me too.”

Peter winced. “If that’s a reference to our words over the sub hatch, I owe you an apology for cutting you off. Twice.”

“You don’t. But it would have been nice for you to hear it, I think.” He took his first sip of wine for the evening. “It might have changed things, after.”

Peter nodded. “There are criminal acts that I can’t fix for you, and others that I won’t fix. I think you’re up to something really bad.”

“I know what you think.” He sat back in his chair abruptly, the temporary intimacy dragged out in the undertow.

“I feel responsible.”

“No matter what I do or don’t do, you’re not responsible. Not ever.”

Peter shook his head. “It isn’t just that I relied on you too much, put you in a position to confront the greatest temptation too soon. I could expect you to overcome that, make the right choice with your conscience. Getting involved…” Peter rubbed a thumbprint off his glass, “was not my best judgment. But I can’t bring myself to regret it. And a truce isn’t enough for me.”

Neal slid his foot until they were shoe to shoe under the table. “Me either.” He found himself crushing the cocktail napkin and eased his fist open.

“You might change your mind in a minute. I will do my job, and that includes stopping you, putting you back in jail if you’ve earned that outcome…” Peter faltered, then recovered. “The fact that I can hardly say it makes it imperative that I create a safety net. For both of us. I’ve chosen Barrigan to provide that net.” 

Neal’s mouth had gone dry. They had joked about not caring who knew, but the clearly each did care. The fact that Peter used Diana’s last name was just another small indicator. It was typical boy-scout Peter to put his career on the line because he worried that he might be taking advantage of Neal or falling down on the job, and yet this was also a brilliant move, negating any power advantage Neal might have gained from the indiscretion.

“If you and I continue anything more than a professional relationship after this discussion, I’ll tell her what I’ve done. She’ll watch us like a hawk. If I overcompensate with your restrictions, you go to her. If she thinks I’m too easy on you, she’ll step in. That’s how it has to be. But I’m not going to her without your consent. What’s done is done. What comes next is up to you.”

He didn’t hesitate. “I’m in.” Peter actually looked surprised. Which hurt. “You don’t trust me, and I understand. But I’m not kidding or conning about this. You’ve felt my sincerity,” he murmured.

“You can satisfy that aspect of our interaction elsewhere,” Peter replied, roughly. “I’m not delusional.” 

A little jealousy, perhaps? It felt so good that Neal decided to be reassuring. “I thought I had made it clear that there’s only one guy on my dance card, and I’m quite sure that deep down you know why. Don’t push me Peter, our fences aren’t mended enough for that.” While he waited for Peter to study him, Neal contemplated the power of physical presence. The attraction he felt was strong over distances both tangible and emotional, but in person, there had always been something about the man that overwhelmed Neal’s good sense. Given the chance, he would do him in the bistro’s tiny closet of a loo right now. The bathroom sex scene from _Amelie_ suddenly came to mind and he stopped himself from laughing; it would be entirely the wrong moment for humor.

Peter tossed down the last of his scotch. “What about Sara? Elizabeth says you don’t want her to know.”

Neal held Peter’s eyes. “The simple truth is that I like her but I don’t trust her. She likes me but she loves getting paid and recognized for her skill at recovery more than anything. She can’t hurt me with the information about us, but that doesn’t mean she wouldn’t try, and in doing that, she can hurt _you_. That’s an unacceptable risk.”

“I don’t like it. She’s more than a casual partner at this point. She shouldn’t be in the dark.”

“This is my line in the sand, Peter. You’re telling Diana in order to protect me. I’m not telling Sara in order to protect you. Take it or leave it.”

Peter sat stone-faced for several long moments. Then, he smiled, and Neal felt it move through his body like the burn of a fine cognac. “I’d rather take you,” Peter said, and Neal was suddenly harder than he’d been in weeks. 

He knew better. “But you won’t.”

“No,” Peter said, regretfully. “Telling someone at the agency, even Diana, is a huge step. It exposes Elizabeth, for one thing. And if I’m honest, I don’t want to fall in the eyes of my best student ever. I need to go through with it beforehand. No more delays, no losing my resolve.”

“How can I help?” 

“Can you stand to be there? I’m setting it up at our house tomorrow evening.”

Neal ran a hand through his hair nervously. “Wow.”

Peter’s smile was wry. “That’s exactly what Elizabeth said.”

Neal frowned. “That’s another problem. She’s really angry with me.”

“Not so much. She’s looking out for me. And worried about you. She told me to be gentle.”

That felt good. Neal was embarrassed with himself, actually, at how good it felt. “I’ll be there. Really, just the look on Diana’s face should be worth it.”  
*******

After dinner, with wine glasses filled, Peter took the plunge. “Diana, I need your help.”

“Anything, Boss,” she immediately replied. Significant glances circled the table, not lost on Diana. “Tell me.” 

“It’s important that you not relate to me as your boss for what I’m about to ask. For that reason, a copy of my written statement has gone into a safety deposit box.” He pushed a small envelope across to her. “It’s set up to transfer into your name alone when you go to the bank. Keep the new access info to yourself. If I try to pull rank on you regarding the issue we’re about to discuss, you take it to IAD.”

Diana nodded, her expression grave. “I’ll admit, you’re scaring the hell out of me.” She glanced at Elizabeth, and then at Neal. “Especially since we have a unusual gathering here.”

“They need to be here.” Peter breathed deeply. He wanted to savor the bit of remaining hero-worship in his protégé’s eyes for just a moment longer. All the rehearsals vanished as the moment narrowed. From the corner of his eye, he saw Elizabeth slide Diana’s wine glass out of startled-accident range. He forced himself to look her in the eyes. “Neal and I are having a relationship.”

Diana sat very still, her eyes only on him, hands quiet on the table. “Clarify,” was all she said.

“A sexual—“

“—I started it,” Neal interjected.

“It doesn’t matter who started it,” Peter said, calmly, without looking at him, “it’s a full-blown deal.”

Diana turned to look at Elizabeth, who steadily returned her gaze. “Is this just a stand-by-your-man thing?” Elizabeth shook her head. “Damn, woman, you are so much cooler than I already thought,” Diana said to her in a deadly serious tone. She turned back to Peter. “On a personal level, I have to congratulate you for having the moxie. Especially…”

“…at my age.”

“…as a man.” She cocked her head. “You know, I wondered about you from time to time, kept talking myself out of it because, well, women are definitely on your menu. Now you’ve settled a long standing wager.” 

“A bet?” Neal asked, defensively.

“On whether there are truly any bisexual men. My brother swears it’s not possible. Now, I know there are at least two.” She took a long swallow of wine. “Professionally, I see a hornets nest of problems. I gather that’s why you’re telling me.”

Peter nodded. “I’ve violated a number of duties. And I’ve let you down—“

“Peter,” she said, sharply, startling the rest of them. “Let’s be clear. I admire you for everything that you are. At this moment, I think I admire you even more. You have _not_ let me down. But did you not just instruct me not to regard you as my boss in this? If so, then stop with the shame and please let me ask the necessary questions.”

“Okay. Sorry.”

She took a sip from her water glass. “To date, have you _in any way_ been derelict in your duty to ensure that Caffrey doesn’t flee?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Have you ever, for example, removed the tracker for the purpose of sex?”

Peter reddened, but persevered. “No.”

“Because of the personal relationship, have you overlooked problematic behavior of your CI that you would not otherwise have allowed him to engage in?”

“No.”

“Have you taken actions on duty—particularly risks—as a result of the relationship that you would not taken have absent the relationship?”

Peter thought carefully before answering. “No.”

“What you mean is that you would have risked your life for him anyway.”

“Yes.”

“I believe that. Have you, Agent Burke, in any way pressured, induced, coerced, or otherwise manipulated your CI into a personal relationship?”

Neal spoke up. “Absolutely not.”

“Shut up, Caffrey,” Diana said. “You’ll get your turn.”

Peter sat very still and quiet for several moments as he thought it through yet again. “No,” he answered.

“Would a threat to expose the relationship cause you to compromise your duties?”

“No.”

“In other words, you would suffer public humiliation, reprimand, firing, or other discipline rather than compromise your duties?”

“Yes.”

“And a threat to your wife’s dignity or career or family relationships and friendships would not cause you to compromise your duties?”

“No—“ Elizabeth chimed in.

“No,” Peter said, at the same time. 

Diana regarded him for a long moment. “We’re done for now. I need you to leave me alone with Neal for a little while. Take a walk.” 

“Thank you,” Peter said, feeling oddly young and sheepish and dismissed. Elizabeth retrieved Sachmo’s leash, and together they walked the dog. It was a quiet first few minutes between them, the dog’s happy huffing sounds and the noise of the city buffering the silence.

“Part of me can’t believe that just happened,” Peter said, at last. “Are you walking next to me wondering how our life got so screwed up?”

Elizabeth laughed a bit ruefully. “I’m walking next to you hoping Diana doesn’t shoot Neal in our dining room. Have I told you before that you man up like no other man I’ve ever known?”

Peter felt a wash of relief. “No. But that’s a huge compliment, honey, considering the guys in your family. Who, by the way, would rather die than touch another man beyond a handshake or slap on the back.”

This time, the laugh wasn’t rueful, and Peter started to relax. In fact, he felt a little giddy. “I wonder if this is how Diana felt when she came out to me,” he said. “Of course, she hadn’t violated FBI policy six ways to Sunday.”

“Still, it had to be a difficult choice for her.”

“I hope I made it as easy for her as she just did for me.”

“Hm. I think you were a little warmer and more supportive than she was.”

“Being impersonal was the right thing. It lets me know that she’s the boss in this, just like I asked her to be. I feel badly, shifting the responsibility. She has plenty of responsibility already.”

“Let her do this for us, Peter. She can and she will. It’s not a one-way relationship that you two have.”

They walked on, quiet again, until Peter’s phone buzzed. “Yeah. Okay, we’ll head back.”

Diana met them on the stoop. She gave Elizabeth a long hug, and Elizabeth gave Peter a little wave as she slipped inside with Sach. “Fine woman you have there,” Diana said with some irony after the door shut. 

“I do not take her for granted,” Peter replied, mildly.

They stared at each other. Finally, Diana smiled. “Thank you for trusting me.”

“Thank you for having my back.”

“He must be truly something,” Diana said, her lips quirked. 

Peter felt himself flush. “You’re lucky to be immune.”

“Oh, I only have limited immunity,” she grinned. “I still like him in spite of himself.” 

“I haven’t told him anything about our research project. If it turns out…” 

Diana put up a hand. “A wise teacher once told my class to plan for the bridge to be there, and to have a contingency plan in case it isn’t, but then… 

“…to stop wasting energy worrying about the bridge. Words to eat now, eh?”

“We’ll figure it out, Peter. See you in the office Monday.” She patted his arm and walked to her car.

The atmosphere in the house felt subdued. What registered first was El and Neal sitting at the dining room table, El’s hand over Neal’s. Neal looked deadly serious. Everyone’s wineglass was still almost full, including Diana’s. Peter cleared his throat. “Dare I ask how it went?” 

“I can think of lots more fun to have on a Friday night,” Neal tried to quip, but his heart clearly wasn’t in it. “I’d rather not talk about it just now.”

“You okay, Babe?” Peter asked Elizabeth.

“She made it about as low-drama as it could be. But watching you be questioned.... Ugh.”

“This isn’t the worst it could get. Anyone want to call a halt?” They both glared at him. He circled around Elizabeth, kissing the top of her head, her cheeks, her nose, and came to stand behind Neal, hands coming to rest on the top of Neal’s shoulders. He felt immediately grateful for the missed familiarity of the muscles and ridges of bone, and started digging at knots. Neal tipped his head back against Peter’s chest and sighed. Elizabeth hadn’t let go of Neal’s hand. Peter let one hand drift up to cradle Neal’s jaw. 

“Funny thing, I’d pictured myself sweeping the dishes off the table and dragging you onto it at the first opportunity,” Neal said, his eyes closed. “But there’s no way I could after what just happened.”

“Just stay with us. Sleep.” Peter looked at El. She nodded. “In our bed. There’s been too much distance between us for too long. I want you close.” 

“I’d have to explain an overnight absence to Sara. So far, she’s never stayed over, but if she made a surprise visit, I guess I’d have some more explaining to do.”

“Is it better to call her now, or alibi out?” Elizabeth asked, trying to keep it light.

Neal contemplated, and they let him. “Alibi out. She went home, didn’t leave a note, hasn’t called. Might be a test. I should text her something generic.” He did, and then relaxed back into Peter’s hands. 

“I’d like a shower and some sweats.” Elizabeth squeezed Neal’s hand and stood. “One pillow or two?

He smiled. “One.”

“See you upstairs.” 

Peter continued working Neal’s neck and shoulders, watching Neal’s face become peaceful. He heard the shower start to run. A few minutes later, Neal’s phone buzzed against the table. Peter drew away to give him some privacy.

Neal glanced at it. “Huh.” He read the text aloud. “ _Flew to Atlanta. If successful, back tomorrow night._ Not a test then. I should be glad she’s not clingy.”

“I still don’t like sneaking around behind her back.”

“Noted. And I’m sorry.”

“For…”

“Complicating absolutely everything.”

Peter sighed. “You do. But I don’t regret it.”

Not long later, spooned around Neal, Peter kissed the back of his neck and prepared to try to sleep. Reaching over Peter, El settled a hand on Neal’s waist. “Welcome back,” she said. 

Peter couldn’t see, but he was fairly certain that Neal was crying. He held Neal a little tighter. Having Neal and Elizabeth here, together, where he could protect them both if necessary, felt so deliciously safe he couldn’t fall asleep for a long time as he listened to them breathe and felt their hearts pulsing against him.  
*******

Neal was surprised to wake up alone. He had trained himself to be easily awakened, a necessary survival skill, yet somehow, both Burkes had gotten out of bed without disturbing him. He stretched and listened. He thought he could hear a murmur of voices downstairs. 

This was an incredibly stupid thing to be doing if he intended to go on the run with Moz. On the lam for life, with new identities that might or might not hold, enough loot to set them up in quiet luxury somewhere out of the way. That was supposed to be the ideal. He wanted to have that life, in which he could so easily fake a normal existence. His eyes wandered to the painting on the wall above the fireplace. His work, his vision. He also wanted to stay.

As he came down the stairs, Peter and Elizabeth looked up from the disassembled paper and smiled. They looked comfy in sweats, t-shirts, and bare feet, coffee in hand. 

“No fair, dressing for breakfast,” Peter chided, but his voice was warm. 

“Since I didn’t plan for a sleepover, there wasn’t much choice.” He had left off the tie that he had chosen to meet with Diana, his shirt was wrinkled, and his sleeves were rolled up. But the shirt and trousers were very nice, and he had “borrowed” what looked like Elizabeth’s leg razor to shave in the shower. 

Elizabeth was watching him over her giant coffee cup, her eyes crinkled in a mostly hidden smile. He fetched a cup of his own and returned her smile in kind. “May I?” He indicated what was often, in his observation, Peter’s chair. 

“Absolutely,” Peter said. 

“What canary did you swallow?” Neal asked El.

She gave her head a little shake and sipped her coffee.

“As innocent as the whole thing was, she woke up this morning in a bed with you,” Peter replied. “And just look at you.”

The way he said the last part thrilled through Neal’s chest and constrained his breath.

“Both of you,” Elizabeth added. “You were curled into Peter’s side with your head on his shoulder and a leg flung over his.” She grinned. “And I couldn’t take photos. Or tell anyone. Torture.” She got up and headed into the kitchen. “So, who feels like eating some muf--” There was a quiet, choking sort of sound. “Never mind,” she called out a few moments later.

Neal carefully studied his coffee cup while trying not to burst out laughing.

“Baking does excite her,” Peter said, deadpan, and then they did laugh.

“Okay, okay,” Elizabeth grumbled, bringing out a platter of muffins and butter and swatting Neal on the back of the head with a potholder. “I might have spoiled the sexual tension but it’s good to hear you both laugh.” 

Neal let her set the platter down before he snagged the back of her sweats and tumbled her into his lap. Peter’s smile stayed easy and his eyes seemed to sparkle as Elizabeth gave a small shriek of surprise. Neal nuzzled under her hair, lips skimming the side of her neck. She froze. “Say that again,” he murmured against her skin, “about spoiling the sexual tension.” One hand braced her back, the other rested lightly on her stomach—it wanted to run off elsewhere but knew better. Still connected with Peter’s gaze, Neal opened his mouth, just enough to let _wet_ and _teeth_ register in Elizabeth’s nerves. From her shudder, he was certain she was going to leap up and retreat to the couch. 

He was unprepared when she relaxed, sliding weight off the armrests, turning into him to catch his mouth with hers. Surprised, he yielded, as her hands came up to cup his face, her tongue danced with his, her breasts crushed against him, and he realized that both his own hands were full of her ass. Neal hadn’t been at all hungry for female attention, and yet, she had him on fire so quickly, he let slip a groan. At that, she eased off, came back for one more swipe of her tongue, and climbed off him. 

“Yep,” she said, “remember what happened the last time you tried to teach me a lesson?” She handed Neal a muffin and a napkin and went back to the kitchen to do God knows what that could be more important than going on feeling like _that_.

“That was hot,” Peter said, quietly, setting his cup on the coffee table and digging into the tray himself.

“ _That_ was my own fault.” Neal swallowed, and his throat suddenly felt dry and painful. He resisted the need to adjust his trousers and sipped coffee instead, nibbling at the crisp edges of the still-warm confection. “She does test my resources.” He thought he heard Elizabeth laughing lightly from the other room. “It bothers you less now,” he remarked to Peter.

Peter shrugged. “I’ve had an opportunity to experience what it’s like to not be with you at all,” he said bluntly. “Compared to that, I think I can work through my natural fears about… sharing. She certainly has.” 

“For whatever reasons, I think it’s less frightening to contemplate your partner being with someone of the same sex.”

“No, it’s not.” Peter replied. “Not for me.”

“Oh. Wait. I haven’t—”

“Not asking,” Peter interrupted, gently. “But I’m not going to assume that Elizabeth has it easier than I do simply because she’s also intrigued by me being with a man.”

“Point taken,” Neal replied. “As I’ve said before, with no offense intended to Elizabeth, I’m here for what exists between you and me.” 

“Ah. But what exists between us includes Elizabeth one way or another. Can’t get around it. I’m growing accustomed to that fact.”

“Okay then.” Neal stood and brushed a few crumbs from his trousers. He followed Elizabeth into the kitchen, finding her leaning against the counter, gazing out the window. “You can stop leaving the room on our account,” he said, from the doorway.

She turned and smiled at him. “What’s it gonna take to get you two to really make up?”

“Meaning…?” Neal said, mock innocently, just before Peter’s lips on the back of his neck startled a gasp from him. Those hands, firm on his shoulders… he had missed them so much. His eyes slid closed and he went away a little, into the place he had started to convince himself didn’t exist.

“That,” Elizabeth said simply. She moved in and lifted one of Peter’s hands, sliding it down and around Neal’s waist until he could clasp Neal closer against him. 

“Thanks, Honey,” Peter murmured against Neal’s neck. Elizabeth leaned in and kissed Peter, their noses and tongues brushing Neal’s skin just below an ear. Neal groaned softly. 

“I’d like to stay,” she said, backing up again, “if neither of you mind. And just watch.” 

“Watch what?” Peter teased, just before biting, softly.

Neal caught himself, hands on the doorjamb, as his legs went weak. But Peter was holding him and wouldn’t let him fall. Before the sub blew, that would have felt… metaphorical. He made his legs hold him up again. Peter pressed his hardness against Neal’s rear, and his own answered with a jump as though it had been touched. He wondered how long he could manage to last once he got at Peter’s bare skin. And then he wondered instead, how fast he could recover.

“I intend to make the most of this day,” Peter said. “Is that all you want to do, El, watch?”

Her eyes were big. “That’s plenty,” she said.

Peter subtly pressed again against Neal. “How are you keeping it together?” Neal husked back at him.

“I’ve already come twice,” Peter joked, “in my mind.” And then, to Elizabeth, “You really should come closer for a minute before you settle for watching.” He went back to kissing Neal’s neck. 

She looked torn, and Neal couldn’t really blame her either way. But she reached out a hand to him, and he took it, squeezing her fingers. In case she was trying to gauge him and not herself, he tugged gently. She followed, two steps and a half. He clenched his teeth hard against the inevitable jolt through his cock when their bodies closed. Then, her lips were soft under his, not like before. Neal could feel her heart racing and decided to kiss her for real this time, like the end of a first date. 

It was smooth, molten, like dancing with her had been, and he felt her rise to him as his hands pressed her waist, helped her arch into him. He knew she could feel how hard he was against her stomach and she didn’t back away, but he didn’t flex into her, knowing it would end the whole game. He didn’t resist every urge, though, and the feel of a heavy breast in his hand, nipple hardening against his thumb, made him stifle a whimper. 

“Mmm,” she murmured into his mouth, kissing him back harder, before pulling her mouth away and pressing her cheek to his, her breath rushing by his ear. “The edge belongs to you two,” she said. “After… we’ll see.” 

And then Peter was pulling him back through the doorway. They both stumbled making their way up the stairs, unwilling to disengage completely to accomplish a more orderly trip. Peter ended up under him on the unmade sheets, and Neal impatiently yanked off Peter’s t-shirt as Peter worked on Neal’s buttons and together they stripped away the dress shirt. 

The feel of Peter’s skin, his muscles moving underneath as Neal sealed to him belly, chest, and mouth, made Neal growl a little, deep in his throat. The sound came out angry, hunger kept too long from a meal. Peter answered with something more longing than angry. There it was, that delicious surrender, when he knew Peter would let him do anything. Neal had to lift away or come right then, so he bought a little time by moving to rip off Peter’s sweats and underwear, getting Peter’s cock into his mouth as fast as possible, drawing the silky flesh against his lips and tongue. Deep in the recesses of his mind, a shadow berated him for wanting anyone this much. 

“Neal,” Peter gasped, “me, too.” His hand on Neal’s ankle gave a tug in the right direction. Neal shifted to straddle Peter’s shoulders without taking his mouth away. He thought maybe he should warn Peter that it wouldn’t be long, but then he was inside Peter’s mouth and it was all he could do not to fuck his throat. He sucked in a deep breath and concentrated on trying to make Peter feel as good as he was feeling. The rhythm became hypnotic, and for a few seconds, everything seemed to flow around them. A sudden tension beneath him gave him a moment’s notice to breathe before Peter bucked up and came, groaning around Neal’s cock. Even with that vibration, he would have made it, would have held off, if Peter’s fingers hadn’t pressed right behind his balls, almost promising to slide into his ass. 

His eyes flicked open. From where he had fallen to his side, mouth against Peter’s thigh, he could see across the bedroom. Elizabeth was huddled in the big reading chair, chin on her knees, arms around legs, like the night she had watched from the living room couch while Peter stroked him off. A man would have had his dick out the whole time, probably would have come with them. His eyes traveled above her to the painting, then back down to her face. He sat up. 

Peter didn’t move except to lift a brow at him. Neal smiled down at him and pushed off the bed. He padded over to the chair and knelt down, leaning on the armrest. Elizabeth’s fingers slid into his hair. 

“Gorgeous,” she said.

He knew she meant the whole thing, but also that she meant him, and a sunny space yawned in his chest. “I missed him something awful,” he whispered. 

“He feels the same,” Elizabeth replied.

“I missed you too.”

She smiled down at him, a little sadness flickering there. For a moment, he was sure she knew he was going. And then she sighed. “But you’re here now. Let’s not dwell on what we can’t change.” 

“And there are things we _can_ change.” He took the hand that was still tight around her knee and pulled it away, then untangled her ankles. “Let’s dwell on some of those.” He stood and drew her up with him. He placed one of her hands on his bare chest, pressing it close when he felt her hesitate. Then, with a deft touch to the small of her back, he guided her into a salsa step. Her other hand drifted to his shoulder. 

“Naked salsa?” she queried. 

“Half naked,” Peter quipped from the bed, “sadly.”

Neal smiled into her eyes and threw his reply over his shoulder at Peter. “A gentleman always respects a lady’s choice to keep her clothes on.”

Suddenly, Peter was there, behind Elizabeth, crowding her closer into Neal. “But I don’t entirely have to be a gentleman,” Peter said. Elizabeth turned her head toward him. He almost kissed her and then paused. “Should I have a drink of water first? Mouthwash?”

She giggled. And then she took a serious tone, “You’ve developed a taste for Neal’s taste,” she said, leaning back against Peter. Peter touched her chin, turning her into his kiss. 

Neal had seen them kiss before, just not with the full intimacy of foreplay. It reached both his heart and his groin, starting him down the path to hard again. He wanted to lean in and lick the exposed join of Elizabeth’s jaw and throat, but it felt wrong in the moment between the two of them. Elizabeth’s fingers on his chest rubbed back and forth, letting him know he wasn’t ignored. 

The twist of Elizabeth’s torso to reach the kiss had pressed her hips harder into Neal, and he felt Peter’s hands come around her waist and untie her sweats. He hoped Peter wasn’t making a mistake. He hoped he wasn’t making a bigger one. Trust based on recent forgiveness would be a fragile thing. 

Elizabeth’s hand left Neal’s shoulder and stilled Peter’s hand, holding her sweats in place. She broke the kiss with Peter and rolled her head to look at Neal. “I’m not hesitating because of Peter,” she said, “he’s making his preference clear, and he knows he doesn’t get the luxury of buyers’ remorse.” 

“Sara?” Neal asked, gently. She shook her head, which surprised him a little. A harder truth occurred to him. “I know you can’t trust—“

“It isn’t that. _And_ I’m happy to tag along here, I don’t have other expectations. But you’ve said to me that you need to be with Peter, which I understand and support, obviously. I’d much rather observe than feel like a duty of any kind.”

She said it earnestly. And it seemed incomprehensible to him at the same time. “Fuck gentlemanly,” he declared and crushed his mouth to hers, loving to his bones how she immediately surged against him. He plucked her hand from his chest, sliding it down to grasp how undutiful he was feeling. A tiny part of his brain squealed that Peter was watching, Peter would get triggered, Peter might shut down. He ignored that voice. 

He flexed into Elizabeth’s hand and through her body, felt Peter press back. Neal’s hands were in her hair, but she moaned soft and short in the back of her throat and he needed more skin. He skimmed down her neck and back, around her ribs and breasts, finding the edge of her shirt and shucking her out of it, vaguely registering that she was helping, letting go of him, arms shifting overhead and then falling to his shoulders.

Peter made swift work of her bra. Neal covered her breasts with his hands, kneading, her energy not ready for his mouth. He returned to kissing her lips, neck, collarbones, reading her gasps, playing them. Peter’s hand clasped his shoulder. Neal paused, Elizabeth’s ribs heaving under his hands, and caught Peter’s eyes. The intense expression wasn’t difficult to interpret, desire entwining with impatience. Neal glanced at Elizabeth, her head rolled back onto Peter’s shoulder, eyes closed. He leaned in to kiss Peter, but Peter stopped him with a touch to his lips. 

Peter slid his own hand down into Elizabeth’s sweats, eliciting a sharp gasp as her eyes came open. Peter didn’t linger, lifting his fingers to Neal’s mouth, slowly wetting Neal’s lips and chin, eyes still locked on Neal’s. 

Neal felt his nostrils flare. That fast, he was hard enough for anything. Focused on Peter, he could see at the edge of his vision Elizabeth’s shock at what Peter had just done. His lips parted and he curled his tongue around one of Peter’s fingers, drawing it in and tasting more fully. Tart-slippery, open air and ocean, a siren’s song. He smiled, eyes fluttering halfway closed as he sucked on another finger. He liked eating Sara, she clearly enjoyed it, but with Kate it had felt like a connection with something deeper. It had been a long time without that. 

He had remarked about the effect of Elizabeth’s scent to Peter, more than once. Now, Peter watched him over Elizabeth’s head, pupils blown, rapt as he licked Peter’s fingers and tasted her for the first time. It was more than permission. Neal nudged his cheek against Peter’s hand, signaling him to move away, and shifted his eyes to Elizabeth. Her shock had warmed to something more like surprised arousal. “Hey, you,” he said, softly, touching her face. “He may be allowed to take shortcuts, I haven’t earned that privilege.” 

She smiled. He brought his mouth to her ear. “That was nice, but I’d like to experience the source,” he said, “if you’d like that.” 

Her arms came around his neck. “Why, yes, I would,” she murmured.

He backed her slowly toward the bed, reaching out and snagging Peter’s hand. “This is all new for me,” he said aloud to both of them. “I warned you that I don’t think I triangulate well.”

Behind him, Peter snorted. “We all get a beginners pass.” He moved ahead of them, stripped down the bedding and piled up pillows. 

Elizabeth wriggled out of her sweats and underwear as they moved. She backed onto the bed, keeping her eyes on Neal’s face, her color high. 

Neal didn’t comment on her reaction to the awkwardness, instead, he sat next to her and leaned in for a softer kiss. She skimmed a hand along his side. He stroked her neck. “Is there anywhere on your body you wouldn’t like me to suck?” He asked. He found that women didn’t like to say that they didn’t like something you were doing which could lead to strangeness. 

She flashed surprise at the question. “My ears,” she said, involuntarily wrinkling her nose. 

That explained Peter’s care in that area. “Me neither,” Neal said.

“And I’m ticklish around my waist.” 

He saw her millisecond glance at Peter. Peter was keeping his distance, sitting at the edge of the bed. “Would you like him to come a little closer?” He asked Elizabeth.

“Yes,” she said immediately, with an edge of relief.

Neal patted the bed next to them and Peter followed. Neal leaned in and kissed his throat, then mirrored the action with Elizabeth. He said to them both, “If at any time you want me to stop—” 

“You’re killing me, Neal,” Peter said, voice thick with desire. “There’s nothing you could choose to do that isn’t okay with me as long as she’s good with it. Elizabeth will let you know if she’s uncomfortable.”

A flood of intriguing possibilities drowned Neal’s brain for a moment, but none displaced his first impulse. He checked in with Elizabeth’s eyes and she wasn’t flinching. “I’m going to commence ignoring you, Peter. That doesn’t mean you can’t touch or speak or participate, just that I’ll be concentrating.” Elizabeth’s expression lightened at that. “And you,” he said to her, casting his voice lower, “are not very good at only receiving, but that’s your task right now. No organizing, no anticipating anyone’s needs, no responsibility. You can stop me at any time, but unless you do, I want you to understand that this is mutual for me without you lifting a finger. Got it?” 

She nodded. He was purposefully building the tension. His profession gave him special advantages in the bedroom—reading a partner, storytelling, responding to secret needs—and he found that boundaries and consent were particularly important for his partners. But he was also easing his own fears. While he felt confident that they would stop him if things felt out of hand, he didn’t want to reach that point. He had imagined bringing Elizabeth to climax himself, having been the indirect cause several times now, and he had imagined Peter loving it. He had also imagined Peter hating it. Now, he would have to let fear go and risk it all. But then, he did that every day for far less payoff.

Neal returned to Elizabeth’s mouth, toying with her lips, teasing with just a hint of tongue, because she seemed to like it. He sensed she could be a no-holds-barred lover, probably relished a hard pounding, and also had a dynamic range, a sophisticated palate. 

He wanted her badly and he began to let it show as he moved to her jaw and neck. Her hands were back in his hair, the tension in her fingers communicating exactly what touches felt best. At her sternum, he reached up and dislodged one of her hands, shifting to kissing her palm, and then sucking her wrist like he was eating a peach, which, as he had suspected it might, drew the first audible moan. As was inevitable when faced with all the possibilities, Neal envisioned simply kneeing aside a thigh and burying himself into her, ending the collective torture. A peripheral movement and distant crackle let him know that the potential wasn’t lost on Peter either, who then helpfully held up a condom packet for his consideration. He shook his head and almost grinned at Peter’s surprised eyebrow in response.

Her breasts were laid out before him, and once he established that she wasn’t fussily sensitive, he indulged himself. Full and real, the left so slightly smaller than right, skin subtly more vulnerable than a younger woman’s. All of a sudden, he had to stop and just breathe, twitching from the need to get off. He tuned into how far Elizabeth was in the zone, hardly any blue left to her eyes, fingers digging into his arm. He touched her knee and slid his fingers up the inside of her thigh, signaling her to move as he had when he painted her. She sucked in a hard breath as her legs shifted apart, and his hand swept across the wetted skin of one inner thigh. Her self-consciousness had passed. He knelt into the space and again flashed on wanting to fuck her. Her scent filled the bedroom, a heady call to the animal senses. He slid down to his elbows and stretched out on his stomach, hissing as his cock rasped on the bedding. If he hadn’t already come once within the hour, he would have ruined the sheets. 

His hand continued, skating upward until he cupped her whole cunt. He paused. The heat coming off her was volcanic. He pressed a bit harder, engaging deeper structures, and her arms stretched over her head to grab the pillows. He could see Peter, hand gently on her shoulder, manfully trying to remain still. 

When two of Neal’s fingers slid in, Elizabeth arched up for a long moment, biting her lip. Inside, he could feel her fluttering, the involuntary tug of muscles that hadn’t yet coalesced into a purpose. He intended to change that. With both thumbs, he opened her to his mouth. He was suddenly glad he had shaved, customary fastidiousness serving another purpose now. And then he kissed her, that same end-of-first-date kiss he had given her in the kitchen, and knew right away that they were a match. As he deepened from tentative to definite, he moaned and so did she. 

It took a little time to find her preferred rhythm in the micro-movements rolling up to meet him, difficult to stay on task when he wanted to taste and feel and smell her for his own benefit, to slip away as he did when painting. But he stayed present. He kept his fingers slow, working the same place inside with patience, and he could tell she was working with him, not lying there passively but helping the movements run smoothly between them. Her knees hugged him, heels digging in beside his ribs. He glanced up and saw the rapture in her face, eyes closed, fully absorbed, and it hurt him in the most delicious way. 

The danger of all this intimacy washed over him; loving Peter was risky enough, the possibility of loving Elizabeth too, as a whole woman and not just a partner in mischief, wasn’t to be dared on the cusp of flight. He convinced himself in the moment that the thought was the drug of her working on him, that with a clearer head, later, he would be rational again. Life was too short to pass this up.

She was slightly more vocal now, softly communicative. He had to slide one knee up under himself to get away from the pressure as the sounds eroded his control. His tongue was starting vaguely to ache, a nonissue compared to the overall sensory joy. She was accelerating, and he matched her, feeling the finer muscles in her thigh start to vibrate. He stroked harder inside and felt the instant suspension of movement and breath just before she came. 

There were no words, just the voice of a woman pulled so fully into her body that she was suddenly flung out of it by force. He stopped moving, didn’t detach, anchoring her but not interfering. Neal floated in the bliss of it, the strength of her convulsing around him, the change in her taste. And yes, he felt the benediction he’d missed since Kate, the fulfilled invitation to glimpse the depth of sexual power. And he now shared it with Peter, not just the experience in general, but the specific, through El. 

He kissed her thigh and said, simply, “Elizabeth.”

And then Peter was dragging him away, rolling him over, taking his mouth. Neal arched up into him, on the edge, ready to be frotted or fucked or anything, just anything, right now so he could finally have release.

“Don’t!” The command rang out in Elizabeth’s cry-roughened voice. She struggled to sitting, breath still fast. They both looked at her, startled, frozen in their near-orgasmic frenzy. Her hair tumbled around her shoulders in disarray. “I need you to do something for me. Please.” 

Neal felt a chill. It hadn’t been how he had intended to behave right after what she had shared with him. “Of course, I didn’t mean to—“

“No, no. _That_ was amazing, what you just did. Process later.”

Peter swallowed. “What, then?”

Elizabeth regarded him for a long moment, worry and resolve and something else battling for the upper hand. “Neal, I want you to fuck Peter, right now, give him that experience, don’t wait. We have _now._ If something happens to any of us before it can happen, he’ll never let anyone else close.”

 _And when something happens, like I run,_ Neal thought, _he’ll never let me close again either._ He shut his eyes, mostly to refocus away from driving to the finish. Then, he looked up at Peter, waiting. 

“God, yes,” Peter said. “She’s exactly right.” He lifted off, grabbing Neal’s hand and hauling him up from his back. 

Neal rubbed a hand through his own hair, trying to gather his resources. 

“Unless you really don’t want to,” Peter said, brows pulling together for a second. 

“I want to,” Neal said, his voice shaky. “I’m just trying to figure out how to last more than eight tenths of a second.” 

Elizabeth laughed aloud, wrapping a sheet around herself. “Sorry, I forgot you aren’t superhuman.”

He grinned at her. “Ah, but I am. Even so… Usually this calls for patience and preparation. Lots of preparation. I just don’t have it in me at the moment.”

A flush started at Peter’s chest and moved up. “Do objects count. For preparation?”

Elizabeth and Neal both turned to him in surprise. “You mean…” Neal suddenly couldn’t say what came to mind.

Peter closed his eyes. “I bought something about a month and a half ago. A dildo.” He lowered his voice on the last word.

Neal bit his lip not to smile. “You use it?”

“A little.” The flush continued to spread.

Elizabeth’s mouth set itself agape. 

“Sorry, Honey. How the hell am I supposed to bring that up out of the clear blue sky?”

“Like you did just now?”

Peter flinched. “You mad at me?”

“Stunned. Not mad.”

Neal was warming to the subject, a deep, sympathetic fire spreading from his tailbone forward. “How big?” he murmured. “Wait, no, show it to me.”

Peter hesitated, then got up and went into his closet. Neal put a gentle hand on Elizabeth’s leg. “You okay?”

She gave him a look he could only interpret as overwhelmed. “It scared me to death. And I loved it.”

“Wanna do it again sometime?” he asked, cheekily. 

“Yeah.”

“Anything else?”

“Lots.” She reached out and stroked his cock once, full length. “If we didn’t have another immediate use for this, there’s still that fantasy of mine….”

“Can do.”

“I hope we get the chance.”

He didn’t read it as loaded, but then, he knew not to underestimate her.

Peter exited the closet, small box in hand. Neal recognized the shop logo and felt deeper surprise. Peter offered it to Neal. The primary object inside was modest--neither beginner small nor big. Medical grade silicon, soft but just hard enough. It was boxed with a lube shooter. “Good choice. You _bought_ this yourself. In a store. That store.”

“I had questions the online store wouldn’t answer without an email address.”

Again, Elizabeth and Neal regarded him in disbelief. “How many times? A direct answer would be helpful,” Neal said.

Peter squirmed. “Five, maybe six.” 

Control was being lost again and Neal lengthened his breaths to slow them down. “You manage to come?”

“A few times. Not the first or second.”

“Okay.” Neal worked to mentally incorporate various sorts of more information than normal. He reached into the box, filled and primed the lube shooter, careful to let Elizabeth see every detail of prep. “If you don’t mind, let’s do this part first given our advanced… state, then I promise to be more sexy.”

“You couldn’t be more sexy,” Peter replied, dead serious. He started to climb back on the bed but Neal stopped him.

“With a partner and a shooter on hand, do this part standing. It’s smoother entry and you don’t get as much air in the mix.” Peter nodded, looking more than a little squeamish. Neal administered deftly and set aside the shooter and box on the bedside table.

“Not bad,” Peter said, surprised.

Neal turned him and kissed him. It was bittersweet, this day, something always to remember. He let the turmoil of feelings slip into touch, and then took it up another notch. “I do love you, Peter Burke,” he said between kisses. He heard the intake of breath for what it was, surprise that Neal would say it when the world wasn’t about to blow them all to hell. Not by bomb anyway. There was a different means of immolation in store. Another day. 

He urged Peter to his back and stretched for the condom packet. Elizabeth found it and opened it for him. He took his time rolling it on, finding both himself and the prelubed condom unusually slippery, and tried to calm down. “This isn’t the easiest position,” he said aside to Peter, “but I’d like to see your face.”

Peter drew him down until they could comfortably see eye to eye.

Neal stroked Peter’s cock, carefully. Peter might lose the erection in the beginning but the edge would help him through the whole process. Neal shifted into position and when Peter nodded and let out a big breath, he drove in, steady and slow, appreciating that Peter could help even with just a little experience. As sympathetic as Neal wanted to be about the inevitable discomfort for Peter, he couldn’t stop his own groan of pleasure. He had tried not to think about or wish for this given that they had both disclaimed the practice of anal sex.

“Thought you couldn’t really enjoy topping,” Peter joked through a hissing breath. 

“I can’t help it,” Neal said, “you didn’t resist me at all. Am I hurting you?” 

“Not exactly,” Peter replied. “It’s weird though. Mostly weird-good. But not totally.”

Neal reached down and angled one of Peter’s thighs differently. “That help?” He pressed in and pulled back just a fraction to test it.

“Oh, Wow. Better.”

His hand continued on to find Peter softened but still more than half hard. He went to work and felt the blood flow reverse. “You have to tell me in words if I fuck you too hard or not hard enough or if an angle hurts. I can’t get it right otherwise.” He smiled down at Peter. “Women are lucky in some ways, you can just get inside and make fireworks with a little persistence. We don’t work that way.”

Peter’s eyes were big and serious. He wasn’t exactly in pain, Neal could tell, but it wasn’t feeling great either. 

“Imagine,” Neal said. “With a different position, some other time, Elizabeth could blow you while you’re getting fucked. That would feel unbelievably good.”

“God.” 

It had exactly the effect Neal hoped. A little distraction and a lot of arousal. The only guy Neal had ever been with who enthusiastically liked being fucked he suspected of faking it. For himself, receiving seemed like a need, a yearning, that never lived up in the act to the desire for it. He wanted it to be different for Peter.

“Try it a little harder,” Peter asked.

He did. Peter gasped and his chin thrust up, breaking their eye contact. It sounded and looked like encouragement, so Neal shifted a little and did it again. 

“Better,” Peter said.

Neal continued his attention to Peter’s cock and changed the internal angle just a bit again. He was sweating now, holding himself up one-armed, trying to withstand being squeezed and stroked as only an ass could do, with no finesse and maximum heat and force. 

“Let me help,” Elizabeth whispered at his shoulder. She took over stroking Peter as Neal gratefully braced himself better, her fingers brushing his belly as he re-angled. “It’s all so beautiful,” she said to him. 

“He might not—“ Neal began, and all hell broke loose. Peter clamped down and a shot of semen hit the underside of Neal’s chin. Elizabeth placed a hand at the upper curve of Neal’s ass, and whether it was that last little bit of physical stimulation or the thought that she wanted to feel him fucking her husband, it sent Neal over, coming so hot it almost hurt. He wasn’t sure for several seconds whose voice belonged to whom when he and Peter hit exactly the same pitch. He stayed up on his aching arms, panting his way back to normal, until he softened just enough to ease out, catching the condom ring with his fingers. “Be right back, Peter,” he said, making a fast trip to the bathroom. 

Back in a flash, he eased onto his side, full against Peter. Elizabeth mirrored him. Peter’s eyes were still closed. Neal and Elizabeth exchanged a look. Neal shrugged. 

At last, Peter sighed and opened his eyes, looking at Neal blearily. “What was it you were you speculating I might not do?”

Neal chuckled. “Beginners luck? Seriously, I’m surprised. I’m wondering when it started getting good so I can learn something.”

“Right away. Not spectacular, but good. I can’t explain.” Peter shook his head in frustration. “Don’t have the vocabulary. But when you shifted onto both arms, something changed and I thought my dick would blow off my body.”

“It kinda did, Honey,” Elizabeth laughed. She belatedly wiped Peter’s chest with the top sheet. “That was unbelievable.”

“I don’t think we would have tried it if you hadn’t asked. But I’m intrigued that Peter was trying it on by himself.” He turned his attention to Peter. “While you were barely speaking to me.”

Peter snorted. “I didn’t stop wanting you. That’s the crazy thing. I thought you’d betrayed me and it didn’t make all those feelings go away.” 

“So was the purple thing a generic experiment, or did you think about me?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Elizabeth answered, reaching for her bra and t-shirt.

“He just wants to hear me say it,” Peter said, eyes twinkling. “Of course it was about you. I can’t imagine doing this with anyone else. Any of it.”

The statement thrilled Neal even as it terrified him. What would happen to Peter when he went? Would Peter eventually find someone else—the very thought was abhorrent to Neal. Would that part of Peter shut itself away forever? Neal didn’t want that either. But he wanted to be the only man for him. Always. 

“Me neither,” he said, and meant it, wholeheartedly. That would, of course, have to change.  
*******


End file.
